"Fifth National."

"Telephone there and find out how much he drew."

Doctor Hoff sat down at the 'phone. "Five hundred dollars," he said
presently.

"Is that all?" asked the other, disappointed.

"Yes. Wait. He had six checks certified aggregating ten thousand
dollars."

"Then it isn't South America or the West Indies. He'd want, a
letter of credit there. Must be some part of the United States, or
just across the border. Well, we've done a good day's work, and
I've got a hard evening's thinking before me. We might be able to
head off the colonel's personally conducted expedition yet, if we
could locate it."

The evening's thinking formulated itself into a telegram to Average
Jones' club, the Cosmic. It was one among the many distinctions of
the modest little club in Gramercy Park, that its membership pretty
well comprised the range of available information on any topic.
Under the "favored applications clause," a person whose knowledge of
any particular subject was unique and authoritative, whether the
topic were Esperanto or fistiana, went to the head of the
waiting--list automatically and had his initiation fee remitted. Hence,
Average Jones was confident of a helpful reply to his message of
inquiry, which summed up his conclusions and surmises thus far: